SEASONED BY SEASONS...

If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that you can’t control three things: aging, Bangalore traffic, and the weather app’s mood swings. Yet here I am, hopelessly in love with all seasons, except the one that turns me into a walking, talking humidity experiment: summer.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried to make peace with summer. I’ve romanticized mangoes, popsicles, and long evenings, but no amount of Alphonso diplomacy can justify the betrayal of stepping out freshly bathed and returning home like a marinated version of myself. Bangalore, however, spares us a little. Its summers are like that polite relative who complains but still brings sweets. The traffic, though, is perennially seasonal. Rain or shine, vehicles bloom like wildflowers after a drizzle - stubborn, colorful, and entirely immovable.

Come monsoon, the poet in me wakes up. The earthy smell of petrichor makes me believe life can restart after deadlines and chaos. My umbrella becomes less of a rain shield and more of a social experiment, testing how much patience one can retain while wrestling it in crosswinds. I sip hot chai, watch raindrops slide down glass panes, and feel profound until I realize my clothes are still on the line outside.

Then winter arrives, my favorite co-worker: quiet, efficient, slightly cold, but always dependable. Bangalore winters are brief, just a few weeks of “I can finally wear my jacket,” followed by “okay fine, it’s 10 a.m., let’s take it off again.” The foggy mornings make me want to sip endless cups of coffee, wrap myself in a blanket burrito, and cancel plans in the name of self-care. Winter reminds me that comfort isn’t always luxury. Sometimes it’s just a warm pair of socks and a reason to nap.

Spring, though short-lived, is like the guest who shows up uninvited but brings flowers and good vibes. It makes the city look poetic, with gulmohar trees setting the streets ablaze in red, and you can almost forgive the traffic for existing. It’s also the season when hope sneaks back into our calendars. The air smells different, dreams feel lighter, and life seems to say, “Hang in there. Better weather is coming.”

Each season teaches me something. Spring shows how to start again. Monsoon teaches how to find joy amid mess. Winter reminds us how to pause without guilt. Summer, well, it teaches me how to complain creatively.

So yes, I love all seasons, just not the one that feels like being slow-cooked on the ring road at 2 p.m. But that’s the thing about Bangalore: its weather has moods, just like us. Maybe that’s why I stay loyal. No matter how unpredictable the skies or the signals, the rhythm of seasons keeps reminding me that life, too, is best lived in changing phases, preferably with a fan on medium speed.

In Bangalore, the only constant season is traffic. 🚦

This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop